Cloud 9
by Sea-Pig-Out-Of-Water
Summary: A bottle. A hockey puck. A dirty handkerchief. An unhinged door. And a crumpled note. Dave tries to save Kurt from an invisible evil, while at the same time casting his own demons away. eventually kurtofsky . Rated T for very naughty language from Dave.
1. Chapter 1: At the Gym

_Chapter One: At the Gym_

If you had asked me a year ago if I had a gym membership at the Fitness Planet on main street, I probably would have scoffed and accused you of being a fag who just wanted to get all up on me. But now, it was only a small shock when my alarm rang at about 5:30 AM on a Saturday morning, I got out of bed, slipped on my Nike's and started jogging towards the only public facility open at that hour.

After I had gotten expelled, I had been given a lot of time to just think things over. And after rerunning everything Kurt had said to me over the past few months, I was beginning to realize something. If I was ever going to be as confident as he was, I needed to make some serious changes, for the better of course. No way was that tiny little nymph turning me into a man-diva like himself. But he had definitely taught me some lessons, like how I needed to stop being such an ass (to myself and to him) if I was ever going to come to terms with who I was, and how I needed to make good first impressions -no scratch that- _honest_ first impressions if I wanted to get in with the right crowd. But the one I catered to whenever I went to the gym was the lesson of self respect. If I was ever getting a man like Kurt to use as arm candy, I needed to loose the chub and get a smokin' hot bod like every gay man's dream guy should have -Kurt heavily included. And even though I was nearly positive that jocks like me were in fact Hummel's type (see: Finn Hudson), those insults still discouraged me greatly. Because even if Hummel was practically the cutest guy to ever walk to halls of McKinley, he was definitely a bitch sometimes. And to think _I_ was the one accused of being a bully.

After about a three mile jog into town, I turned onto main street and headed towards the only place which was heavily lit at six A.M. on a Saturday: the Lima, Ohio branch of the Fitness Planet gym chain. When I finally arrived, I pushed open the heavy glass doors and was met with a welcoming blast of cool air. I took a minute in the alcove to recharge, with a couple of deep breaths for good measure, before heading inside the main building. At the front desk was Charlotte, this 25-year-old girl who always kept her hair in these repulsive curls and ingested nothing but Red Bull and Espresso while she was on shift. She winked at me, then took my pass card and swiped it to ensure that I was the exact same guy who had been coming in at her shift at exactly six in the morning every Tuesday and Saturday for the past two and a half months. Then she gave me this awful toothy smile with her giant bucked teeth as she handed back the pass, making sure to mindlessly giggle and blush after I had accidentally touched her hand. Now, the reason that a year ago I would have pegged a place like this as a fag-fest wasn't just because I was a self-hating homophobe back then. No, there were reasons, and I really wasn't just stereotyping. Literally every guy who I had ever seen come in to that place (besides the douche-bags just trying to pick up chicks, which there were surprisingly very few of) had set off my gay-dar at one point or another (most of them were total bears). And of course ditzy little Charlotte was so desperate for love and male attention that she had either forced herself to become unaware of the pride parade which was Fitness Planet, or possibly had gone a little blind.

Anyways, after brushing that lunatic off of my shoulders (and praying for a few moments that she wouldn't decide to clean the men's locker room while I was in there showering), I headed over to the treadmill. My legs had already been moving all morning anyways, and this would be a good way to warm up my body a little more for some weight lifting later on.

I plugged in my ipod and set it on shuffle, then took a swig from my water bottle and let the music and the exercise overtake my thinking. The first song to play was Kid Cudi's Soundtrack 2 My Life, which had made me cry once or twice. Not because the rapper's story was so riveting, but because I realized that I too had invisible emotions, that I felt like no one could ever understand. So I let the song take me to a darker place in my mind, in my past, and just I forgot about the present. Looking back, I realized how many times I actually could have come out, and how many times I could have fucked it all up too. The latter outweighed the former in a very serious way, and so I switched it to something else. Just some dance song, or whatever. As long as it helped me not think, it was okay for the time being.

After about twenty minutes of mindlessly running forwards without reaching anywhere, I had consumed the contents of the plastic bottle that I was now crushing in my firm fist. I switched off the machine, and took a little breather before heading over to the recycling bin on the wall near the back-exit. Just then, a shorter dude walked in from the entrance, making me flinch a little. He had grey eyes and neat, black hair -obviously a teenager, though. He also happened to be wearing a suit-coat and a tie, which was a little confusing considering the fact _we were at a fucking gym_. He grinned at me as I looked up at him from the far more interesting wastebasket, but I decided to be polite and just ignore the fact that he had walked into a gym at 6 in the morning -from the wrong entrance- dressed like he and his dad had just gone on a father and son business meeting.

"Hey man, nice to see another fellow here at this hour, am I right?" He said, reaching out his right hand, expecting me to shake it, "The name's Blaine Anderson. Nice to meet you."

"Yeah," I replied, taking his hand in my firmest grip while trying to not toss him across the room, "Nice to meet you too. I'm-." I stopped for just a moment, taking the time to look the guy over again. His face was so _familiar_, and I knew I had seen that red and navy "D" uniform before. But where? I racked my brain until I had reached the right memory. It was the day _after_. That's right, the kiss had become a whole new historic landmark for me, and on the day _after_, Kurt and some fancy prep-school boy had hunted me down after lunch and confronted me on the subject. I guess his name was Blaine, and he happened to go to the same gym as me. _But how had I never seen him before? _

I quickly snapped back into reality and decided to conceal my identity, just in case he suddenly remembered who I was and tried to call for security or a SWAT team or a GSA or something. "I'm... Dave. I come here a lot to work out because..." _Think, Dave, think, _"I'm training to become a coach for one of the local high school's sports programs. I just love helping kids get into sports and getting them scholarships." _There you go. Just keep that in mind before you say something stupid. _

"That's cool. Hey, mind if we chat a little more?" I wanted to grunt or moan in anguish at such a stupid request. _Why the hell would a high school kid wanna talk to a college-age guy, especially one as intimidating and gigantic as me? _But instead of coming off as some rude bastard, I just nodded while he went to go get on his gym stuff, saying he'd meet me back at the treadmills.

When he came out of the locker room, he was wearing a full-on track suit. Not that it was ever scolding hot at the gym, but I personally found my choice of some gym shorts and a wife beater much more appropriate, _and a hell of a lot less Sue Sylvester-y_. Plus, my outfit was totally flattering to my muscles, so I decided to assume he was a little more overweight than he seemed and tried to ignore how weird he looked in that baggy thing. _Wow, I must be transforming into Kurt now, _I chuckled to myself. I then noticed the silence that had fallen, and besides the revolting chatter going in and coming back out of Charlotte's cellphone on the other end of the building, it was a ghost town in there.

"So, what's a kid like you doing out here so early, huh?" I asked nonchalantly, trying to keep conversation light, _and to keep my thoughts off the guy's connections with Kurt. _

"Nothin' special," He answered, "I've been coming later in the day on weekdays lately so I can train. You see, I'm kinda failing gym, and if I don't pass, my parents won't let me be in Dalton Academy's glee club, the Warblers, anymore."

"That's cool. I used to go to Dalton Academy, too," I answered without using my brain. _You idiot! What the hell? Now you're gonna have to know all this crap about his school and stuff! _

"Really?" He turned to me while continuing to jog at a sloth's pace, "What year did you graduate?"

It took me a second to do the math in my head. "Class of '04. So, how good's the glee club this year anyways?" I figured that now that I seemed pretty legit, I might be able to get some info about Kurt, assuming he had transfered to Dalton, of course. But I had every right to assume that a guy like Hummel would go chasing after his boy toy like that.

"Well, we won our sectionals, but we tied so it wasn't really a win. It's probably 'cuz of this new kid we have named Kurt. You're working at McKinley, right? Do you know him?"

I immediately flinched. _Hummel? Responsible for them loosing? That's preposterous! How the hell could Kurt make them loose? He sounds like an angel or something! _Was what I wanted to spit out at the scum bag I had managed to become treadmill buddies with. But instead I just shrugged and let him keep talking about how awful Kurt was.

"This kid, he looks like an eleven-year-old milk maid!" Blaine laughed, clutching his stomach to keep himself contained, "He sounds like he's been sucking on helium all day! And he tries way too hard, always making dramatic gestures and tearing up whenever we sing a ballad. It's hilarious!" I suddenly felt the urge to toss Blaine across the room rising up in me again, but I resisted, faking a smile and nodding for him to continue. "I mean, he's a nice kid and all. But really, he's just a bit too _unique_ for our much less theatrical song selections, you know what I mean?"

Instead of answering him (with a punch in the chin) I turned my wrist and checked my watch. It was only around 7:15, barely half-way through my workout.

"Aw, man look at the time," I sighed, "I better get going. Nice talking to ya though, kid. Hope you ace gym, though!" Just as I was putting back on my sweatshirt and stuffing my ipod into my duffle, he placed a hand lightly on my shoulder.

"Before you go, I have a quick question for you." I nodded to him, not even bothering to turn around and look him in the eye. How in the world did Kurt come to trust such a bastard? As I was deafened by the furious rant I was mapping out in my head, all I heard were a few blurbs of speech "ice rink" then "warbler's choreography" and then "anywhere local?".

I just replied, "Lima Ice Arena," before making my way towards the door just in time to keep myself from hearing him telling me how thankful he was or whatever.

I couldn't believe it. _Kurt must really think this guy is nice, but he's such a douche bag! _I thought as I tossed and turned in my bed back home. And since every time I tried to go back to sleep, I saw his face (and since every time I saw his face I wanted to slap him), I decided that I would head on down to the Ice Arena that afternoon, just to get some hockey practice in, and hopefully get that bastard Blaine's image off my mind.

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**_Hey, thanks for reading my first chapter! I hope you enjoyed it. I have the rest of the story completely planned out in my brain (after looking up prompts on the internet, of course), but before I continue adding meat to the bones of my first really good kurtofsky-ish story, I want to know what you all think. Should I continue? Please review, favorite, and story alert this fic to show some love!_**

**_Sincerely,_**

**_Sea-Pig Out of Water_**

**_p.s. For the record, I don't hate Blaine. I just needed him to be a total douche for this story to work. I hope he's actually nice and that he and Kurt stay friends. Also, I didn't confuse Planet Fitness with Fitness Planet. I wanted to make up a gym name but ended up just switching around the name of a real gym. And on a further note, can you guess how old Dave is pretending to be? Here are some notes: assume he had a birthday in 2011, and that he graduated at the age of 18. If you're the first reviewer to get the right answer, I will totally mention you/your account on in my next chapter, and I'll also bake you a chibi-Kurt shaped cookie!_**

**_Yay for cookies! ^-^  
_**


	2. Chapter 2: On thin Ice

_Chapter Two: On thin Ice_

By noon time, most of the previous events of the morning had been engraved into the inside of my eyelids, and were echoing softly through my ears like a constant mantra of Hummel's mistake in trusting such a total jerk. But as soon as I was out on the ice, all of my thoughts eroded away and became one with the icy dust created by the sharp tips of my skates. It was like a static was running across my skin as I took those first few strides onto the glassy surface, like I was a bolt of lightning, a force of nature so powerful that man could not possibly tame it, and I was unstoppable. I was in my territory. The ice was like my home, more than any other place that anyone else could truly see with their own eyes. As I swerved across the rink, I could feel the rush of the ice colliding with my sharp, precise skates as I glided across it's surface, dribbling my lucky hockey puck and then shooting it towards an invisible goal. I was at one with myself, finally, after what felt like an eternity of awful emotions, even though they had only begun several hours prior.

The Lima Ice Arena was like a savior to me, not only because I myself had a passion for hockey, but because it was also my perfect manly muse to keep me, _and_ my family and friends, distracted from the uh... gay thing. I could always vividly remember the first time I had come to the arena as if it had happened yesterday, and it always gave me a warm feeling inside, even on the icy rink. I was about nine or ten years old and my Dad wanted to get me into sports, _badly_. All of my older brothers had been playing football at the time. But since I was still in elementary school, I was ineligible to play on any teams. The only other sports I could play were soccer and baseball, and neither interested me. Not enough padding. Not enough sweat. Not enough contact. I needed something raw, something to make me look tough. _Something to distract me from all of the weird feelings I had been having. _Then one day, my mother and her book club held a party at the Lima Ice Arena, and Dad and I had to go because our house was being repainted and Mom didn't like the idea of us staying home and ingesting all of those chemical fumes. So we went, and the first thing I saw when I walked in the doors was just what I had expected: a bunch of little girls in glittery little ice-tutu's doing stretches and spinning around in circles. But then, as Dad and I were sitting down on the benches to watch Mom try her hand at figure skating, I spotted this father and his son, who seemed about my age (though a little on the heavier side). He was in all of these pads and had on a super-beefy looking football helmet with a mouth guard. He was also holding this huge stick and this little tiny flat disk, and at first I was a little confused. But as I watched the two progress onto the ice, I was awestruck. The way he glided towards the goal was so graceful and fast, like a hawk chasing after it's prey at lightning-fast speeds. But when he came in to shoot the little puck into the goal, he did it with such a passionate power, it was as if he had transformed. It was like that old saying, _float like a butterfly, sting like a bee. _

Soon enough my Dad noticed me staring. "Do you like what that kid's doin' down there, son?" He asked. I nodded. "It's a sport called hockey, and it's kinda like football on ice, except with golf clubs and a flattened out ping-pong ball. Are boys in your class playing?" I nodded again, starting to recall boys with big, hulking jerseys in my class, talking about games.

"I wanna try and play hockey," I told him.

He smiled down at me proudly, "I think that'd be great, son. Oh Dave, I'm so proud of you." So of course, I got into it. At first I thought it was just for the pride which seemed to emanate off of my dad every time I came home with another trophy or medallion. But soon, it was like an outlet. For all of the anger and frustration of not being able to share my emotions, keeping them bottled up inside until I wanted to absolutely burst. Some nights, I would go alone and just cry as I skated my way in circles around the edge of the rink. After a couple of years, all that pride my father had harbored for me seemed to have disappeared completely. And I didn't really like admitting it, but it was starting to get to me.

Oh yeah, and that boy I had seen that first time turned out to be Azimio Adams, my best friend, and one of my greatest fears as well.

After shooting for about a half an hour, I decided to just skate around in circles for a bit so I wouldn't really have to think all that much. But my plans were dashed as the nearly empty skating rink's doors opened and an army of fancy little boys in red and navy uniforms started to trickle inside the glass walls, on to _my_ stomping grounds.

"Dammit," I cursed under my breath. That was the moment when I finally started to care about what that stupid Blaine guy had wanted earlier, "He must be doing some dumb-ass ice skating choreography for his glee club, the Douche-bag Academy Pigeons, or whatever." To be honest though, at least half the guys showed obvious signs of previous training on the ice, which was a relief to say the least (having a bunch of newbies to worry about always messed up my game), the other half of the Pigeons, however, left something to be desired. I hadn't spotted Blaine yet, which was a positive sign. _Maybe he won't skate because he's worried that if he falls, his fat will break through the ice, _I smiled at the thought, distracting myself with it for a few seconds. And within those few seconds I somehow managed to get myself facing in the opposite direction of everyone else, as well as let the grip on my lucky puck loosen. And then suddenly, THUD. I felt something hard hit the back of my right thigh.

It had felt a little like a short-person's head, so I figured it was a freshman, and since he didn't go to my high school, my immediate reaction was to be polite and help him up. "Are you alright?" I asked, turning around and putting out a hand to help the poor guy up, "I'm so sorry. You probably tripped on my hockey puck, didn't you?" The boy grabbed my hand, and then looked up to face me.

I was immediately paralyzed with fear.

After he had gotten up, I withdrew my hand and held it behind my back. I skated a little bit farther away from him so I wouldn't have to be so close. His eyes reflected the ice perfectly, like little bulbs of shining glass. His face was a bit rosy, probably from the cold, and his lips were bright red, despite the dry air making mine totally chapped.

"Kurt," I mumbled, continuing to stare.

"Karofsky," He whispered back. He wasn't angry, or thankful, or even surprised. Just afraid. And that's what hurt the most on the inside. I could tell just by the way his cologne smelled different than it used to that he had been cuddling up with that dick-head Blaine recently, making me scowl. He flinched a little, beginning to panic, so I stopped and we just stood there in our own little world for what felt like eons of time. I was aware that it was a bad time to try and apologize, but it was such a rare opportunity. I had to explain how I felt about him.

I remembered back when I was in Kindergarten, and all of the boys in my class kept pulling on the girls' braids and pony tails, calling them names and saying that they had cooties. So one day I asked my mom why they did it, and she explained to me how boys like girls and it makes them feel funny. But when boys are little and they don't know what to make of such funny feelings, they turn it into violence instead of love, and pick on girls that they actually think are pretty. At first I was a little confused, considering at the time I had no desire to pick on girls, or boys for that matter. I just dismissed the way I was attracted to other males as the funny feelings my mom had described, and tried to have fun while I could still get away with wrestling with the other boys in my class and reaching up their shirts to tickle them. But when I got into middle school, everything changed. The boys didn't believe in cooties anymore. They worshipped Playboy bunnies and tried to ask the "hot" cheerleaders for our soccer team out on dates. But I still felt different. Luckily, in high school, I met Kurt, and all of that changed. I kept asking other guys why we picked on him, making sure not to seem too suspicious and all. They told me it was because he was a fag who liked to do it with other boys, and they explained how he probably snuck into the locker room to watch us changing and showering and stuff. So the moment I realized I was gay was also the moment I realized that I _wanted_ Kurt to come and watch me getting undressed in the locker room after football practice, and that I _didn't_ want to date any of the Cheerios girls. But instead of accepting myself, I got angry and confused. I was like a big Kindergartener, shoving Kurt into walls and throwing slushies at him because I didn't understand my feelings.

The only problem with my explanation was that Hummel was a smart kid, and I _knew_ that he wouldn't accept the excuse that I had the brain of a five year old (though I'm sure that was something he had always assumed about me anyways).

So instead of apologizing, I just stood there like an idiot until Blaine started to come our way and I turned my head in disgust. Finally, I managed to get my body moving again, and after getting in one more "sorry" look to Hummel, I picked up my puck and skated off to the exit of the rink. _Not such a lucky puck anymore, huh? _

Picking up my things off the bench by the doors, I noticed a familiar little satchel. Looking back at the ice to somehow place it, I noticed Kurt holding that jerk-wad Blaine's hands and spinning in circles with him romantically. _What does that ass think he's doing, tricking poor Kurt like that! Wait, that's it. It's Kurt's messenger bag! _At first I was hesitant. Even _I_ was above stealing (the wedding topper was an exception), but I couldn't help it. I didn't know the next time I would get to see him, and I wanted a reminder of him that didn't smell like bastards who fail at gym and can't even recognize actual talent when they see it. I looked to my left and my right, then dove a hand into the front flap of the little brown briefcase, pulling out a nicely folded, pearly-white handkerchief. I took a whiff and was relieved to find that it was _not_ scented like cheap Ax spray-on deodorant (I was a much classier Old-Spice type, just like my dad). Then, I stuffed the little cloth square into my duffle with my hockey gear, rushing outside and into the moderately-fresh air of the parking lot.

I sighed as I sat in my truck, alone. _Why do the nice guys never really win?_

_

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_

**Thanks for all of the reviews, you guys! And also, congrats to tien871 for guessing first that Dave was 25 (though it was kinda an easy math problem ^-^)! You get a virtual chibi cookie of Kurt! Hooray! Also, copy and paste this to get to tien871's account:**_** [ fanfiction(dot)net/u/2619174/tien871 ]. Keep reviewing, favoriting, and subscribing to show the love! Chapter three should come soon, then chapter four and I'm all done! And thanks for being so awesome and believing in the power of limited-amounts of Kurtofsky! (trust me, the end will have some). ^-^**_

_**p.s. Thanks Orchestra-Eight for explaining the math problem too. ^-^**_

_**p.p.s I have a new contest/vote for the comments (or maybe on my profile): Which Dave time period would you like me to write about in my next story? adorable-Kindergarten-Dave, Elementary-school-hockey-Dave, confused/pubescent-Middle-school-Dave, or more High-school-Dave? I'll make a poll on my account, but you can also comment on my story about it too. ^-^ **_

_**~ Sea-Pig-Out-Of-Water ^-^ **_

_**p.p.p.s Please tell me if I mixed up too and to in any parts of my story, or vice versa, so I can edit it. Thank you so much! ^-^**_


	3. Chapter 3: In my Dreams

_Chapter Three: In my Dreams _

Finally I was safe, back home in my room, lying on my bed underneath all of my blankets. As I closed my eyes, I smiled in relief. This was where no one could find me. Not my mom, not my dad. Not my brothers. Not my friends. Not even Kurt knew exactly what I was thinking.

I started to shiver and unconsciously let out a little moan as I let it slide across my palm again. The soft, silky fabric that I had rolling through my fingers kept reminding me of his velvety skin as I held his cheeks in my hands, placing my rough lips on his much more satiny ones. He had no idea, but that moment had been haunting my dreams ever since it had happened, and it was as terrifying as it was beautiful to relive that moment every time I drifted off to sleep. But the dream I had was different this time. For it was no dream. It was a nightmare.

At first, everything was black, and then the world slowly came into focus, twisting and spiraling around me until I was on my bedroom floor, lying at an obvious angle as a sharp light penetrated through the now unhinged door into my room. As the world continued to tip, a deafeningly eerie heartbeat rang throughout my body. Then, police sirens, and flashing lights, and the roar of a fire truck quieted the beat down. I tilted my neck and looked around at myself. There was a small gun in my hand, and my shirt felt soaked, especially at the spot right before the shirt's collar, but not quite where the heart is found. I felt a small hole there, like something was missing. Breathing was really difficult but I managed a few shaky gasps for air. It ached as my lungs filled up, then desperately released, filling right back up again. There was a coppery liquid inside of my mouth that I nearly choked on from breathing so hard, so I spit a bit of it out onto my left hand, which was not holding the gun, and realized how badly I was bleeding. But instead of turning back from whatever I had done, I just lied there in pain, waiting for whatever happened afterwards.

And then, the lights brightened immensely. Was it finally over? I began to let myself go, but stopped abruptly, holding on with my last ounce of breath as someone very familiar burst his way through the now unhinged door to my room and ran up to my nearly lifeless body, kneeling next to me.

Kurt Hummel.

I suddenly felt the urge to try and survive as he sat next to me, even though I couldn't tell what his expression held through my watery eyes. I reached for something -anything to stop the bleeding. The only thing I could find near me was the handkerchief that I had stolen. It was fairly dirty at this point from who knows what, and I wasn't about to make it any cleaner. I held it up to the spot right above my heart, where the gun wound was. I had obviously missed my target. _Why hadn't I just stuck it in my mouth like a man? _I thought, trying to keep the peice of fabric from floating down the stream of blood which trickled from the hole in my chest. _Why'd I have to be so dumb and miss like that?_

At that point, my eyes were starting to dry up, and I could see Kurt's baby-face more clearly now. His mouth was wide open and his hand was placed gingerly over his lips in shock. I smiled with whatever strength I had left, but he just returned a scowl.

"You disgusting, self-loathing, psychopathic freak!" He shouted, his voice shrill and upset, "You're so sick! You steal from me, and you get aroused by my agony! You're a monster who has always deserved nothing less than suicidal temptations, and now you are finally getting what's been inevitable since the day of your birth you sick, twisted, brute! _I hate you!_" Now _my_ mouth was gaping like a fish's, blood slowly dripping over my bottom lip and down to my chin. I was so shocked that my grip on the soiled and dirty handkerchief started to weaken, and when I was about to let go entirely, Kurt snatched it away from me, flashing me a look of disgust before turning on his heels and heading back towards my now broken door.

A silhouette then appeared in the brightly lit hallway. It looked so familiar, but with my body starting to shut down, I couldn't place it until Kurt said his name. "C'mon Blaine, let's get out of here," He spat, making sure to not look back at me. I could see a flash of teeth and a devious smile appear on Blaine's face before the two finally made their exit. Then there were more sirens, and the thundering boom of many frantic feet as paramedics and policemen and firemen bombarded the staircase and piled into my bedroom. But they were too late to save me from the damage I had already done. The world was starting to fade out again, melting and distorting before my very eyes. Black spots appeared everywhere as the heartbeat started up again, this time faster and more disturbing, until I finally heard the sadly familiar sound of a flatline. The long, sour tone echoed in my ears as I was consumed by the darkness, finally ending the awful fantasy.

I sprung up out of bed. I could feel the sweat. It was everywhere. On my body. Soaked into my sheets. Wetting my pillow. "What the hell..." I muttered to myself, "...what _was_ that?" It was like no dream I had ever had before. I was never suicidal in my dreams, and probably only once or twice in real life. Why was this happening _now_? I shook my head a couple of times and let out a bunch of deep breaths and sighs that I didn't even know I was holding.

After a few moments, I nervously looked down into my right hand, hoping not to find a gun or a bloody handkerchief or really any sign that my nightmare was more real than I had thought. I was completely relieved to find, however, that the small cloth was stain-free and as pearly-white as ever. I rolled it around in my hand as I thought about the dream, keeping it close to my chest where the wound had been, almost like a security blanket.

_Why had I tried to kill myself? And even more importantly, why the hell did Hummel __**want**__ me to kill myself? _The thought of it was terrifying, to say the least. _A sweet, sympathetic kid like Kurt wouldn't want me to commit suicide, would he? _I sighed again, flopping back down onto my bed and just lying there, thinking about it. _How could such a sweetheart like Kurt ever wish that upon someone? Especially someone like me, who he __**knows**__ is already terrified. _And then it hit me. _Blaine! Damn that bastard. _In my dream, he had been the one behind the scenes. Hummel could never possibly have had the guts to say something that raw and degrading to my face, especially while I was dying, unless of course he had a little devil on his shoulder telling him what to do. And that devil was Blaine Anderson.

I needed to do it. I had enough evidence, all I had to do was contact Kurt and tell him the truth. I figured he would appreciate more if I met with him in person, so after showering to remove all of that sweat, I went on the computer, checked out Dalton Academy's website to get some information on the school, and then I looked up some cafés and coffee shops in between Dalton and Lima. Eventually I came up with a nice one called Cloud 9, which was this little hipster/art-college-student type place in Pike Village, which was a tad closer to Kurt, but I didn't really mind driving that far to talk to him. Apparently they had really fantastic pastries and hot cocoa, which was good because I was never really a coffee fan anyways. They also had a courtyard, incase Kurt wanted to talk outside or whatever. It didn't really matter to me. He just needed to be comfortable around me. And judging by how he acted when we intercepted at the Ice Arena, he wasn't exactly there yet.

The next phase of my little project was definitely the hardest and the most emotionally draining. After copying down Dalton's address onto a little slip of paper and tucking it into my wallet for safe keeping, I pulled out another piece of notebook paper and placed it firmly on my desk. Then I took out a pencil and froze. _What the hell are you doing, Dave? _I asked myself over and over again, _Why the hell are you even trying to contact him? _But I wasn't about to let my common sense stop my heart from doing what it felt right. And in only a few moments after that revelation, I had written my letter.

I proof read it a couple of times, adding the address of the coffee shop (9, Main Street, Pike Village), as well as the date and time I wanted to have our little meeting (Sunday, which was tomorrow, 3:30 PM), and then I tucked it inside of the handkerchief, kissing it gingerly as stuck a little pin in it to keep it closed.

Finally, it was time. Luckily, my parents were busy in their library room with something and I managed to sneak out of the house without causing any suspicions. Then I got in my car and raced up to Dalton Academy. Eventually, I arrived, at which point it took me about an hour or so just to find the main office. _Ugh, these damn rich people and their stupid confusing school. _

When I found the front desk, there was a plump middle-aged woman sitting behind it. "Oh, how may I help you, young man? Are you here to enroll?" She asked.

"No thanks, ma'am," I put the handkerchief on the desk and pushed it closer to her, "Can you deliver this handkerchief and the letter wrapped inside it to Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, please?"

"Certainly, young man," She smiles, then rings a small bell and an even smaller errand boy comes racing out of the office, "Henry, can you please take this to your friend Kurt?" The boy nods at her request, then races out of the office to fulfil it.

_This is it_, I thought as I got on the highway that would take me back to Lima, _I can't do anything now. All I really can do is hope and wait.

* * *

_

_**So did you like it? The final chapter will be posted soon, and then I might do a sequel. Thanks for showing some love by favoriting, alerting, and commenting on this story! Also, can you guess who else says this phrase? {**__these damn rich people__**}. I'll give you a hint: she's in an anime, one of my favorites! Whoever guesses it first gets a little virtual chibi-Blaine cookie where he has little devil horns and a pointy tail and everything. Anyways, like I've said before, please tell me about any spelling or grammatical mistakes I have, and also, you can now use a poll up on my author's page to tell me which Dave-period you want me to write more about. Thanks a bunch!**_

_**~Sea-Pig-Out-Of-Water ^-^**_


	4. Chapter 4: On cloud 9

_Chapter Four: On cloud 9_

I woke up Sunday morning to the sun poking at my eyes through my window shades. My alarm was blaring, so I rubbed my face with the palms of my hands, -just an old wake-up habit- then slammed practically my whole arm down on the annoying little machine. But a smaller bleep still echoed through the room. _What the hell? Ugh, not now. Who would text me so early? _At first, while my brain wasn't quite turned on yet, I brushed off the "You've got mail" indicator as just another drunk text from Azimio. _It is Sunday. He was probably out last night partying or something. _But as soon as I remembered Saturday's events, my whole body shot up and I grabbed my phone with the hardest grip I could muster. Then I flipped through my inbox and found it. 1 new message. From: unknown sender (263-2867). So I took a deep breath, and plunged right in to whatever it had to say.

_Thanks for giving me back my pocket square. You could of washed it though. It was kinda dirty and smelled like jock sweat._

_ ~ K.E.H_

_ P.S. See you at 3:30._

Such a short little message. _But hey, _I thought, smiling, _At least he got the letter. And look, he even wants to meet with me! But oh holy hell, what am I going to wear? _

I was almost positive that if my mom or dad had come into my room while I was getting ready, I would have subsequently been thrown out. Fussing over an outfit for a lunch date (_wow, a date with Hummel...) _wasn't exactly the most hetero activity to waist most of the morning on. And if I tried to make an excuse, I'd probably either (a) end up tongue tied, or (b) say something totally stupid. So I just prayed that they wouldn't walk in on me, and luckily they didn't. But I was still cautious as I snuck down the stairs at around 3 PM, slowly making my way out to my car and beginning what would probably be the longest car ride of my entire life.

I tried to take deep breaths as I got on the highway. My concentration was way off and right then was not a good time for a car accident to happen. A migraine started rising up in me as I got off the exit to Pike Village and turned the corner on to Main Street. Even the quaint setting of the town wasn't enough to put my mind at ease. My breaths quickened as I spotted the sign for the coffee shop at the very end of the road, and I decided to park about two blocks away so I would have a minute to get my shit together.

_C'mon Dave, don't be such a baby, _I told myself, _Since when has cowardice brought you anything good? _

"Well, so far, it's kept me from being humiliated by my peers. Not to mention the fact that I haven't said anything stupid in front of Kurt in a while is probably because I've been too much of a pussy to talk to him at all," I lashed back, cupping a hand over my lips after realizing I had just fought with myself. Out loud. _My god, I really am gay. _

I sighed, scrubbing my face with my callused palms and trying to figure out what to do. _Should I leave? Should I go meet him? What the hell, this should be so easy! _I couldn't just leave without letting him know I had arrived in the first place. That would be totally douche-y. _But then again, text messages explaining how much of a pussy you are aren't really a good idea either. _It seemed I had no choice but to be a man and talk to him. _But about what? _I asked. _Would I have to explain my feelings? Would I just have to apologize? Would he ask all these personal questions about my home life, like therapy? Oh crap, I don't even know! _At this point I was so scared-shitless of the inevitable that I was physically shaking in my seat, my hands jerking the steering wheel and my eyes twitching between its leathery skin and the coffee shop down the street. Kurt's super-fly jet black Lincoln was no where in sight, and at that point I was even starting to fret about whether or not _he_ would have the guts to show his face. _Of course he would! _I slapped myself mentally, _Kurt has enough balls for every guy at McKinley High. I mean, a convincing death threat is a pretty solid basis for a transfer. But he's physically gone through much more than that. There were the slushies that ruined his beautiful clothing and made his gorgeous glass eyes all squinty. There was that time we threw pee balloons at him and his face got all red in embarrassment -a cute cherry red that made his dimples pop. And those locker slams were just brutal, probably bruising his tender, pale skin more than once. After all of that abuse, he always came back for more. But you on the other hand, you are a disgrace. How could you, a 200 lb football and hockey player, be so afraid of a chat with a little kitten like Kurt Hummel? _I sighed, closing my eyes and shaking my head around in an attempt to get out all of the raw energy I was collecting from my rant.

"Alright Dave, you can do this," I said proudly, "You can be strong just like Hummel. It's only a matter of deciding whether or not you are going get up off your ass and into that coffee shop or not." After taking several deep breaths, I grabbed my keys, my wallet, and my phone, then made my way towards the little Cloud 9 sign that was gently rocking in the breeze about two blocks away from my car.

When I had finally reached it, I took a moment to make sure everything was perfect. Was my fly undone? Were all the buttons on my shirt in the right order? Was my shoelace untied? Then it was time. I took a firm grip on the little metal door handle, let out a breath I hadn't known I was holding, and then just like that, I opened up the door and stepped right inside. A little bell on top of the door frame rang as I stepped into the space, echoing its previous sound as I let go and let the door fall shut. I looked around, and was consumed by the strange warmth of the place. Murals of flowing faces and wild colors I didn't even know existed were on every wall. One of these walls contained several large windows overlooking a wooden plank terrace and a grassy courtyard. There were little tables and chairs, but the foggy weather kept them damp and unoccupied. A bit off to the side but still fairly central was the coffee bar. A bunch of metal stools circled around a large, round, bar. Behind the endless ring of counters were two workers preparing lattes and adding the whipped cream to people's hot cocoa.

I looked around at the tables and booths, scanning them for the short, pale-skinned boy that I had come to meet. But I did not meet his gaze, or even catch a glimpse of _any_ of his body for that matter. I sighed looking down at my scuffed-up sneakers. _I should have known all along, _I clenched my fist at the thought, _Hummel wouldn't dare to come near me. He'd rather stand me up and spend time with his stupid prep-school fancy haircut perfect little flamboyantly-gay twerp of a fake boyfriend. Oh, what the hell! Who cares anyways? If Hummel's gonna be an ass and blow me off, he deserves to find out the truth about that sleaze-bag himself! _After my inner rant, I closed my eyes and took a couple of deep breaths to calm down. _Still, I really wish I could have apologized. _At this, I let a tear slip absently down my cheek. Kurt had no idea how much I cared about seeing him, and I had no idea how much he cared either! _I'm so stupid, _I told myself as I wiped the tear away and turned back towards the door, _Why would he even want to see me? Even if I put my heart on my sleeve for him he's still gonna hate me. I'm just using him to torture myself at this point. I should just give up and go home. _

I kept my head down as I neared the door, only letting it tip back upwards at the sound of the bell ringing again. I was about to just look back down and step aside for the café's next patron, when my heart literally stopped. I double-taked at the sight of the fashionista before me, attempting to respond but failing utterly and freezing myself as I stared at him. He was decked out in a knee-length black sweater and tight grey skinny jeans that, I must admit, _hugged his legs in all the right ways. _

"Umm... can we get a table now please?" He timidly swung back and fourth, his hands clasped behind him. I snapped out of my stupidity and nodded, walking over to the coffee bar with him waltzing along infront of me. _I guess he's a little more confident considering I haven't strangled him yet. _

"I'll have a large hot cocoa with extra whipped cream and some chocolate chips on top, please," Kurt kindly asked the waitress on the opposite side of the counter.

"Make that two," I said, coming up behind him. He flinched a little, so I placed a firm hand on his shoulder and he seemed to calm down, letting out a little moan. My mother had always said I had a firm, comforting hand. _Apparently not when I shoved poor Kurt into those lockers everyday. _

"For here or to go?" She asked as the other staff member, a not too shabby looking guy with jet black hair, started preparing our drinks for us.

"For here," I told her warmly, making sure to smile. She swooned a little, and I cursed to myself on the inside as I was immediately reminded of Charlotte.

The woman eyed me flirtatiously a little before turning towards the cash register and pressing a few buttons. "That'll be ten forty seven, please," She announced as the register rung with our total. I could see Kurt sticking a hand down into his messenger bag for his wallet, and I immediately moved my arm down to his wrist to stop him.

"Don't worry. I invited you here. Drinks are on me," He looked up at me with that shy little smile, covering one of his cheeks with an adorable little hand as an even cuter blush crept up his face. But of course, I wasn't getting away without a snide remark of some kind.

"I didn't know a guy like you had the capacity to be a gentlemen," He told me as I placed a twenty down on the counter.

"Well I guess you learn something new everyday, now don't you," I snapped back. I flinched for a second when he didn't respond, so for a moment I thought I had taken it a bit too far. But as I took the portion of my change that was in coins and dropped it in the Childhood Cancer Research bucket on the counter, that adorable little smile came back and I knew I was safe, _for now. _

I led the way to a nice, sunny little two-person booth overlooking the courtyard, making sure to stop and let Kurt pick his seat first, just to keep up the gentlemanly act and all. For the first few minutes the only sounds were either coming from that absolutely adorable little noise Kurt made while he sipped his drink, or from the art school students and indie-rock band members occupying the rest of the café. But I knew that eventually I'd have to start a conversation. So, after about half of Kurt's humongous cocoa had been devoured by the tiny boy, I cleared my throat and grabbed his attention.

"Kurt," I began, trying to keep myself from word vomiting and messing up my entire speech, "I'm _really_ sorry for all of the shit I put you through. It's just, you were so proud. And I was so jealous. Not to mention I was confused about my feelings for you. And then after the kiss, I was so scared you were going to tell people the truth that I threatened to _kill_ you. I know now that saying things like that isn't okay, and I want you to know that when I say what I'm about to tell you, you need to trust me that I am telling you the truth, and that all I want is for you to be safe." I took his hands in mine and looked right into those glassy blue eyes. "Can you do that for me, Kurt?"

He slowly nodded, cueing me to begin. "I know why you transferred to Dalton. It wasn't just to escape me or to be guarded by their zero-tolerance for harassment policy. You were chasing after Blaine, that boy that you introduced me to on the stairwell after the kiss. And, let's just say we happened to run into each other again, and this time he didn't really recognize me. Well, we were talking and..." I took a deep breath, still not prepared enough to break the news to him. "he said some really awful things about you. I'm really sorry Kurt, but I don't think he likes you the way you like him. I just want you to know that, okay?"

A tear was slipping off of his cheek, and I went to wipe it for him, but he gently brushed my hand aside and wiped his eyes on his own. "It's alright," he smiled, ignoring the sadness and the tears, "I got to find out all by myself when I came back to Dalton late yesterday and overheard him talking about me in the Warbler's practice room." I reached out for his hand again, but he pulled it away and looked down. But when he looked back up, he was different. He emanated confidence and his smile was brighter than ever. "Don't worry about me so much, Dave," using my _real_ name for the first time I could remember, "I'm returning to McKinley, where I'm wanted and needed. And I'm going to help you overcome your fears and come out to the student body."

"Thank you so much," I told him honestly. I reached out for his hand again, and this time he took it. I could feel something in it too. It was small and thin, probably a piece of paper. We released from each other and I unfolded it in my lap.

"That's my email address, my home address, and my home phone number, in case you can't reach my cellphone. Feel free to call whenever you need to," His voice was so calm and soothing, it was hard to believe he had been crying moments ago. I grinned, looking down at the paper and noticing a third and final number scribbled at the bottom.

"What's the last one for?" I asked him.

His mouth curved upward and he let out a little laugh, "That's the Trevor Project. You can call them 24/7, 365 days of the year, and someone will always be there to talk to you and listen to your problems. Because you may know me personally, but being a diva like myself means I need time to catch up on my beauty sleep."

"A beautiful boy like you doesn't need beauty sleep to look good," I told him, hoping my sudden flirty-ness wouldn't cause him to bitch-slap me 'till the end of time, which usually happened to Azimio when he came on to strange girls in public.

But Kurt just giggled and stood up, coming over and standing at the end of my side of the booth, "Not quite yet, lover boy. You have to be out and proud before we can start dating." I frowned, trying to be cute, but froze at the outcome of my puppy-like expression. Kurt Hummel leaned over and planted a soft, tender little kiss on my cheek with those beautiful pink lips of his, before waltzing out of the restaurant, leaving me completely frozen in my seat.

_That boy definitely knows how to land me on cloud 9, that's for sure. Now, what to do about it?_

* * *

_**Hi you guys! It's done! Sorry that I took so long. Forgiveness? (P.S. Sorry for the cheesy-ass ending, but what can you do?). Also, I wanted to add this last little contest in (p.s. the one from chapter three is still open). What do the first three digits of Kurt's phone number mean? And since no one has yet to solve the last one, I'll offer up another chibi-devil-Blaine cookie for anyone who can solve this one too.**_

_**The last four are too hard, so I won't make you guess. I spelled the word "wink" and then went up to the nearest number to the left on my keyboard. I got **__**w**__**-2, **__**i**__**-8, **__**n**__**-6, and **__**k**__**-7. I know it's confusing, but I was running out of numbers! **_

_**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this fic. I will definitely write a sequel, but also other stuff so vote on my Author's Page to help me pick what to write first. Maybe I can even do a Henry spin-off or something. Thank you for favoriting, alerting, and reviewing. Those things = love! So keep it up. Thank you so much for reading and please help yourself to my other stuff. I have a great little short story on my blog right now, but you don't need to read it. I totally messed up the ending. **_

_**I lesbians you all (can you guess what that's from?),**_

_**~ Sea-Pig-Out-Of-Water**_


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